“Theblood.”
My veins go cold, and I snap my sight to the purge on the ground, confused when I don’t see any.
“Where?”
“Tristen,” he gasps out through another wave that doesn’t produce much more but sounds horrendous, and I rub his back. “You.You’re covered in blood.”
When his shoulders shake and he jerks away from me, I finally look down.
Fuck, I forgot.
I whip the material over my head and scrub at my face. It burns like a mother fucker, but that means nothing to me when Em heaves again, his sob breaking through the haze of pain.
“Why did you make meeat,” he cries, and I curse low.
“It’s okay,” I say as I rush to the sink and wet some paper towels to wipe at my face. “Just get it up.”
I’m already running back to where he’s on his hands and knees when the paper towel swipes come back less red, the spot on my cheek persistently leaking now that I’ve broken the scab open.
“I’m sorry,” he cries.
The acrid scent of his stomach acid burns my nose, and my ribs are screaming in pain, but I plant a hand on his shoulder anyway.
He cries harder.
“It’s okay—”
“I’m s-s-sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
“Emmett,” I whisper through the heart-shaped lump in my throat and drape my arm across his shoulders. “It’s okay. We’ll do it together.”
He’s trembling when he looks at me through his hair, his sweet eyes so damn wide and tear-filled that my chestachesway deep down in the parts of me that I don’t like to think about often. A piece of me that was buried beneath the trauma and the life of an addict.
A boy long ago forgotten.
A sun-framed face with eyes so light they seemed unreal that hovered over me as I lay in the mulch of the playground with a broken arm.
“You’re not mad?”
My breath hitches and I shake my head.
“No, bubs, of course not.” I brush back some of his hair from his face, tucking what will reach behind his ear. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me mad.”
“Not even if I called you an asshole?”
I snort and shake my head. “Not even then. C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Okay, asshole.”
The laugh that bursts out of me as I push to my feet immediately cuts off when it hurts too damn bad.
“Why am I an asshole?” I ask through a hiss and hold out a hand to help him off the floor. He takes it with one hand, his other snaking across his stomach like maybe it still hurts.
Then he points at my face, the cuts there, and shakes his head.
“Blood.”
Snickering, I lead him to the lockers and pop mine open.
